10:07 PM Saturday 7-17-99
I'm at home.  "The Big Sleep" is on cable.  We went to the Marina today for brunch with mom and sister Mardi.  I read the paper while my mom talked politics, and Shirelle talked wedding, and Mardi showed off her cleavage.  My mom listens to too much talk radio.  After brunch, we went up to Melrose.  Mardi was shopping for clothes to be Barbie at her God-daughter's birthday party.  I got a shirt with dice and martinis on it.  When we came home, I fell asleep on the couch for a couple hours.  When I woke up, I spent some time switching channels around.  I've got ashes in my lungs.  I've got acid and gas in my guts.  We've got a game tomorrow morning.  What else?  [pencil sketch of noir detective and femme fatale]  Looks like I won't be working on Jim again today.  Just like Bogart and Bacall.  It's sweaty tonight.  "Why don't you go to the police?  I just killed your best boy."     "Where to, Mister?"     "Follow that gray sedan.  It's a tail job."   "I'm your girl."  What book should I read next?  Do you get the feeling Humphrey Marlowe usually had pretty bad breath?  I ate a couple leftover slices of pizza.  I should go to sleep.  I have to close the front door.  "The Big Sleep" is over.  Now they're showing "Marlowe" (1969) with James Garner, screenplay by Stirling Silliphant, directed by Paul Bogart.  I tried to sketch Bogart as Marlowe, but it came out looking like my dad.~~~  They~~ wer~~e both~~~LA~~detectives.~~~The mail dropped in like a pistol shot off the waxed wood floor.  A black dude walked down the street, a dusty wind with a jet roar at his back

or in his wake.